


Rain and Chocolate

by TheVoiceofWrath (meet_your_fate)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Romance, Sex, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:16:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meet_your_fate/pseuds/TheVoiceofWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke is being stalked, but he doesn’t mind. Until he meets his stalker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain and Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> This, too, is something I've had over at my LJ for a while. There's no warning for Luke being underage because I do believe enough time has passed in the timeline of the story for him to be legal.

December 24th is the date according to the newspaper Luke clears off of his last table at the diner. Luke isn’t really sure; he hasn’t been keeping track of the date. On the list of things that are important, it’s pretty far down.

“Hey, Black! Get your ass outta here! I’m not paying you overtime just because you’re standing there staring at nothing,” screams the manager. He’s a douche, but a job is a job. It turns out that ripping off old ladies isn’t as easy as it looks.

“I’m going.” Luke picks up his tip and goes into the backroom to get his coat. It’s freezing in this godforsaken place. He clocks out and walks into the cold Ontario air.

The place he calls home isn’t so great, but it’s got a heater and hot water and he really doesn’t need anything else. It’s on the third floor and Luke figures, one of these days, walking up all of those steps just won’t be worth it. That’ll be the day Luke moves on to greener pastures. He can’t stay in one place for too long, anyway; nobody’s cover sticks that well. At least not one of theirs.

He unlocks the door to his three room apartment and steps though, locking it behind him. When he turns around, he sees a long, shallow box resting on his small kitchen table. It’s covered in red wrapping paper and it has a silver bow. Luke searches the rest of his apartment before he allows himself to panic about how someone broke in to his home. When he doesn’t find anything, he stands over the box. It looks like a Christmas gift but there isn’t anyone who’d give him anything in this town, this country. There’s a tag partially covered by the bow. Luke lifts the bow to read it, but all it says is ‘Merry Christmas’. Luke spends a week debating the pros and cons of opening it, nuking it, or throwing it away.

When he finally gets over himself and opens it, he’s more than a little surprised. Inside is an assortment of chocolates, the good kind; the kind that guys give to women who they’re trying to impress. Luke isn’t sure whether to be impressed or offended. He obsesses over it, but after a few weeks, he’s put it from his mind.

He’s surprised when there’s another box, in white paper with a red bow, on Valentine’s Day. He packs up everything he owns, which isn’t very much, and steals a car. He enjoys the chocolate as he drives all the way to British Columbia.

He’s going by the name ‘Lucas Jones’ and its Halloween before his anonymous benefactor tracks him down. Or maybe he was just waiting for Halloween to leave Luke another gift.

This time, Luke is at home. He’s giving candy to the trick-or-treaters that come to his apartment door. It’s getting late and Luke is ready to call it quits when someone knocks. By the time Luke opens the door whoever it was is gone and all that’s left is an orange box. It has a black bow and the tag says ‘Trick or treat?’ What the answer is, Luke doesn’t have any idea. He looks down both ends of the hallway and sighs. Whatever freaky stalker is giving him candy really doesn’t want to be found out.

Luke doesn’t move. It doesn’t do any good, so why bother? When he comes home from the store on Christmas Eve, he tells himself that he isn’t disappointed that there’s no candy waiting for him. He’d had a pretty crappy day and some chocolate would have made him feel better. The idea that someone remembered him had been oddly comforting. He tells himself that he doesn’t feel lonelier now that his stalker’s forgotten him, too.

When he wakes up on Christmas day, he tries not to be happy when he sees a blue box with a gold bow beside him on the bed. His stalker could have very well killed him in his sleep. He tries and fails.

Before Luke leaves for work on Valentine’s Day, he writes a note and props it up on his table. He has no doubt that it will be found. It reads:

 

Dear Stalker,

I don’t know who you are and that kind of terrifies me. However, I do know that my holidays would suck without your chocolate. Maybe you’re slowly killing me with arsenic poisoning or something, but I can think of worse ways to go. If you don’t, like, molest my socks or anything, feel free to stay awhile. I get off work at 8. If you, you know, finally want to introduce yourself.

~ Luke

 

He sets a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies next to it.

When Luke gets home at 6, the box is there and the stalker isn’t. There’s a sticky note on the wrapping paper. It says:

 

What kind of stalker would I be if I didn’t know your schedule? And the virtue of your socks is still intact. Thanks for the cookies.

S.

 

“S for stalker. Cute.” Luke eats half the box of chocolate before he goes to bed.

The exchange of notes has become a new thing. He gets at least one every two weeks stuck somewhere in his apartment. And his stalker has started leaving him all kinds of candy, not just chocolate. Once he even finds a pack Juicy Fruit with ‘Happy Tuesday’ written on it in sharpie. This means that, either his stalker has become even more interested in him, or his stalker is just making his frequent presence known. Luke had thought that he was only being stalked on holidays.

The shit hits the fan on Luke’s birthday. Or rather, his cover birthday. His boss gives him the rest of the day off so he goes home. It’s April and it’s raining. Luke doesn’t have a car, couldn’t afford to keep the tank full on his crappy wages. He walks wherever he needs to go. He’s nineteen and nineteen year old boys don’t bother with intelligent things like umbrellas in April, so his hair is sticking to his forehead, to his neck. He hasn’t had the ambition to cut it in a while, and it’s even longer when it’s wet; the water straightens out the curls. He’s just across the street when he sees a man walking away from his apartment. He must be wearing a black coat because he looks like an obscured shadowy figure in the rain. Luke knows instinctively that this is his stalker. He hurries across the street and calls, “Hey!”

The man stops. He doesn’t turn around, but he knows he’s been caught. Luke has the strangest sense of déjà vu as he comes up behind the man. “Let me see your face?”

The pleading tone in his voice must have worked, because the man turns around. The face he sees is the one he least expects. If he thought about it, he should have guessed; Sylar. S for Sylar, not stalker. He looks different with his perfect hair plastered to his skin, with rivers of water running down his face. He looks human. Even his smirk is different in the rain and his raised brow is altered by the droplets of water in his eyelashes.

“How? Why?” are the only words that Luke can come up with. He’s absolutely stunned. Sylar should have been anywhere but here, should have been doing anything but playing Santa for Luke. He’d made it abundantly clear that being around Luke was not something he wanted.

“A very helpful boy from Costa Verde taught me how to fly. Why? Well, that’s even easier; because I can.” And god, Luke had missed that voice. It haunted his dreams. Luke doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“And get your hopes up that I’d take you with me? That’s not going to happen, Luke.” He didn’t think for even a second that it would.

“Fine. Whatever. Just… stop it. It’s cruel and unusual. I don’t need you reminding me that I’m not good enough every two weeks.”

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve been up to when I haven’t been stalking you?” And Luke does, more than he will admit even to himself. But that isn’t what he tells Sylar.

“Killing people and dissecting their brains. Same shit, different day. Maybe you and your asshole father have teamed up to be the world’s biggest scumbag duo. I don’t even fucking care. I don’t ever want to see you again.” There’s a part of Luke that believes himself, that he wants Sylar to leave and never come back. But, when he sees Sylar’s eyes narrow, he knows that that part is not the ruling majority.

“Almost two years since we met and you’re still lying to me, even though you know it’s pointless.” Sylar shakes his head. “Why don’t we have this conversation inside? Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or anything.”

“You know, you’re right. Why don’t I go inside so I don’t get sick and die, and you stay out here and conduct an experiment to see how long you can stand in the rain until you drown?” Luke turns and walks towards the brick complex, but he’s stopped when Sylar grabs his arm and spins him around.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he snarls. This is the root of their problem, Luke thinks. They’re too much alike. Sylar is just as screwed up when it comes to abandonment as he is, probably even more. Sylar’s still trying to fix it, tracking down his parents and trying to make people love him. Luke’s given up on all that. There is no fixing it, and Sylar will figure it out eventually, in the eternity that will be his life. Nothing stays and certainly not people. Maybe Luke is only nineteen, but he’s lived a long nineteen years.

“You don’t scare me, Sylar. You can’t intimidate me.” Sylar slams him against the building and leans into his personal space. He raises his hand to Luke’s throat.

“I could kill you.” Luke doesn’t need an ability to know that this is an empty threat.

“That never stopped me before. Besides, all those times you watched me, at least once while I was sleeping; if you were going to kill me you would have done it already. You wouldn’t have wasted all this time leaving me candy.” Luke had almost forgotten the rain, torrential as it is. He only recalls it when Sylar shoves him harder into the wall because it presses the cold, wet material of his t-shirt against his skin. Luke whimpers at the feeling.

Sylar doesn’t choke him or squeeze his neck. He just rests his hand there, like a threat that he could break Luke’s neck if he wanted to. Luke hasn’t forgotten that for a second. “Why do you antagonize me, Luke? Do you want to die?”

“Believe me; if I wanted to die, there isn’t a power in the ‘verse that could stop me.” People might think that Luke is suicidal, but he isn’t. He never has been. He doesn’t want to die. But he believes that there’s an organization to things; that things happen for a reason. Not necessarily by any divine influence, but Luke has to believe that there’s an order to this chaos. If all of the terrible things that have happened to Luke happened just because, he thinks that that would be too cruel. He needs to think that it all leads to something. Maybe it all lead to a road trip with a serial killer, to the best few days of his life. Maybe it all leads to a lonely life as a fugitive in a country that he kind of hates. Whatever it is, it’s better than what was.

Sylar looks at him like he’s in a Petri dish, like he’s some kind of confusing organism that just doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do. “I thought you wanted attention. Isn’t being left anonymous gifts by an unknown person plenty of attention? Haven’t I given you what you wanted?”

Luke’s heart breaks just a little bit more and he’s man enough to admit to himself that some of the water running down his face it too warm and too salty to be rain. “I don’t want candy, Sylar; I just want you.”

Sylar’s hand runs up Luke’s throat, lightly pressing against the sensitive flesh and even higher to cup his chin. His eyes bore into Luke’s before lowering to his lips. Luke can see his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallows. Even with all the buildup, Luke is still surprised when Sylar’s lips engulf his own. It isn’t gentle, but Luke hadn’t expected for even a second that it would be. There are teeth and Sylar growls more than once. Luke can taste the coppery tang of blood, but kissing a serial killer should be bloody. He can’t complain, even if it is his own blood. He tries to keep up with the frantic pace, but Sylar is and always will be a wild animal. Kissing an animal in a rainstorm should be frantic.

When Sylar rips Luke’s shirt open and pushes if off, Luke flinches. It isn’t because of the action; it’s because the cold rain hits his naked chest. It only takes a few seconds for Luke to forget the cold because Sylar’s hands are on him, are gripping flesh like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. Sylar’s mouth falls to the place where Luke’s neck meets his shoulder and Luke moans out loud. He grips Sylar’s broad shoulders in their black coat and goes along for the ride. Sylar makes a confused noise and pulls back. Not a lot, just enough to look at Luke. He sees a healing wound on Sylar’s cheek.

“What happened?” Sylar smirks and indicates Luke’s torso with a nod of his head. Luke looks down. There’s steam rising in tendrils from where the rain meets his skin. He gasps. “Oh, god, Sylar, I’m sorry! I didn’t know that would hap-”

Sylar cuts him off with a slow, deep kiss. When he comes up for air (does he even need air?) he says, “It’s not like it’ll kill me.”

Luke smiles. “No, I guess it won’t.”

Sylar’s hands undo Luke’s pants with unnerving ease. Normal people fumble with that kind of thing; of course Sylar can do it first try. Now, Luke’s no virgin. He’s been living on his own for almost two years and girls totally fall for the mysterious puppy thing he has going, like the poor dog with the scars that people can’t help but love. How could he possibly be a virgin? But this kind of thing, a man shoving his hand in Luke’s pants and gripping his cock, is totally new and he freaks out just a little bit. Not a lot, because while Luke isn’t really bisexual or homosexual, he’s totally Sylarsexual. This is a fact of life and something he’s known since that day in his mother’s living room.

Sylar shoves Luke’s pants down and over his shoes one foot at a time. Luke knows without looking that his boxers are gone, too, because the cold rain on his aching cock is torture. The keening noise that Luke makes is entirely unintentional, but he likes the way that Sylar snarls in response.

Sylar makes quick work of his own fly and pulls his pants down just enough. Luke has never wanted to be in the wrong end of a blowjob before, and it’s a little intimidating how his mouth is watering for a chance to meet Sylar’s hard flesh. He wonders what Sylar’s spunk would taste like. His knees go weak when Sylar slowly strokes himself and Sylar leers even as he catches Luke with his mind. He presses Luke back against the building and Luke is positive that he’ll have scratches from the brick when this is all over. He can’t bring himself to care.

Luke is raised up the wall a little bit, brick biting into his shoulder blades. Sylar raises Luke’s legs with his hands and stands between them, gripping tightly. Luke says something incomprehensible. How is he supposed to think clearly with the man of his dream’s cock against his own?

Sylar nibbles at his jaw, sweet little love bites that won’t leave a mark, as he reaches behind Luke and finds his hole with wet fingers. He presses one in, wiggling it around, before removing it and pressing in two. Luke will admit that he’s experimented with his… down there region. He must have been doing it wrong, though, because it didn’t feel anything like this. Luke has been reduced to a moaning, whimpering pile of goo. After Sylar’s gotten three fingers in and deemed Luke ready, he pulls his hand away. Luke makes a sound of loss he didn’t know he was capable of. Sylar grips himself and lines up the shot. He pushes in. It burns for a few moments, but Sylar doesn’t move. He hadn’t expected Sylar to be so considerate. He breathes deeply and fists his hands in Sylar’s coat. He bucks his hips a bit and nods. Sylar groans as he pushes in the rest of the way.

“Good god, Luke; I thought for sure you’d be a whore, that you’d give your pretty little ass to anyone who smiled at you. So glad I’m wrong…” Luke grins because he’d gotten Sylar to admit that he was wrong, that he liked Luke’s ass, and that he’d been thinking about Luke’s ass all in one fell swoop. Then they find a rhythm and Luke forgets how to think again.

Luke winds one of his hands into Sylar’s hair and pulls. Sylar tugs on Luke’s earlobe with his teeth. Everything gets faster and harder and Luke can’t catch his breath. He knows that this is a building crescendo, that it’ll reach fortissimo soon, sooner than he’d like. Almost as he thinks it, his vision whites out and fire explodes in his veins. Sylar might insist he screamed, but Luke really can’t be sure. A few more thrusts and Sylar is right behind him, growling his release.

When Luke comes to his senses, he thinks over what just happened. They had sex up against a building in full view of the street and anyone who cared to look out their window. Sylar is his stalker. Luke laughs. He’d been missing the screwed up-ness of being around Sylar. Sylar laughs, too.

When they finally get around to picking up Luke’s clothes and going inside, the sun has begun to set. He knows that Sylar’s not going to declare his undying devotion for Luke, that he’s not going to make any promises or proposals. That he’s going to leave and maybe he’ll come back. But, right now, Luke can’t bring himself to care. Sylar tells Luke that he needs a goddamned haircut, but he says it with a smile and a hand in Luke’s wet curls, so he doesn’t think Sylar means it. He makes Luke hot cocoa and wraps an arm around Luke’s shoulders while Luke tries and fails to pretend that he hasn’t actually caught a cold during their April shower’s romp.


End file.
